


The Disease Called Love

by velvetcat09



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Both doesnt know they love each other, Bottom Hijikata, M/M, Relationship Study, Top Gintoki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcat09/pseuds/velvetcat09
Summary: "Let's go to the usual place."Something about an idiosyncratic relationship.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Kudos: 56





	The Disease Called Love

**Author's Note:**

> i just really really really really really love hyakkei's portrayal of gintoki and hijikata, i love hyakkei's brand of angst, i want to read more of that level of frustration
> 
> gotta give credit to akatoki no sora series by hyakkei/ichikawa kei for the huge inspiration
> 
> title credit from Byoumei wa Ai datta (The Disease Called Love) by neru

“Are you free tonight?”

There is disinterest in those red orbs boring hole against Hijikata’s own. What an eyesore. The Vice-commander narrows his eyes, hating the gaze altogether.

“I’m not.”

This guy has no interest whatsoever.

“Doesn’t matter, let’s go to the usual place.”

Hijikata hates the way the silver-haired man comes and goes just as he please like that. Hates the aloofness he holds, regardless of his words; of mismatch actions and intentions. They way the bastard can just saunter his way into the crooks of his life so easily. He hates that nonchalance. But above all, Hijikata hates himself the most for meeting Gintoki in the same place at the same time. Regardless of the hatred, that he still follows behind the samurai’s steps. The moment that they frequent together. The touches they exchange, the kisses, the heat— _bullshit_.

Gintoki was the one who taught him how someone’s touch could be that exhilarating. A possibility of something purely indulgent, the opposite of his self-preservation. It was all the permhead’s fault for opening the can of worm in the first place. It was laced with the putrid scent of cheap booze, Hijikata tasted nothing but bitterness from the very beginning.

Because there was never anything sweet about it—the juxtaposition against the self-proclaimed sugar-content king—any semblance of normality is too foreign for both of their comforts. They started wrong, there’s no point in making it right, now.

All there ever was, is—the sound sex of flesh hitting flesh. Hands that leave marks on each other. Possessiveness lock in time. Of desperate kisses that are never enough, both greedy in their lust.

Gintoki pulls Hijikata away by the hair, yanking the strands unapologetically. Pupils blown away, a streak of drool adorning the bruised lips, messed up through and through. An unbefitting sight for an honorable samurai. The corner of the silver-haired man’s eyes crinkle from the smile.

“You look super pretty, Hijikata-kun.”

He knows well, Gintoki is uninterested in loving Hijikata.

* * *

It’s too late to say it.

Gintoki has thought about it for a long while.

Where they are right now; you couldn’t fit something sincere like love or that kind of sentiment anymore. He doesn’t even want to call it as such, because all that he knows (and to the extent of his concern) is that, when Hijikata isn’t around for him to mess, it’s dull.

There is a period, in this idiosyncratic dance they fumble around with, the moment where they both distance themselves towards each other, for fear of threading into unknown territory. And it is, still an unknown territory, either by the lack of experience or ignorance altogether. Hijikata avoided him, at some point.

Gintoki figures, Hijikata got bored of it all. The Vice-commander busied himself, every invitation declined, every word being put down before they even form a sentence. Gintoki didn’t care enough to read between the lines, at that time. He didn’t care enough pass the ‘relieving their sexual appetites’. Or maybe that he didn’t let himself care; he already pushed away the idea of it being something more sentimental the moment it presented itself in front of Gintoki.

When Hijikata walked away, so did Gintoki. There was no tug-o-war, there was never a fight. If one let go, then they simply let go, because nobody was ever pulling.

And because of that, when Hijikata approached him again, Gintoki didn’t ask ‘why leave in the first place?’. He welcomes the raven back and resumes this loveless scenario of desires. They return to their form of normalcy in a blink of an eye. It’s that easy to be synchronized with each other’s steps.

Somewhere along that, Gintoki admits to the forgotten, the abandoned. It’s too late, and Gintoki knows that well. They’ve missed the opportunities, already too far gone in the rabbit hole. In their cycle of watching each other’s pained face, Gintoki understands Hijikata’s decision to back away that time. In a way, he feels sorry for inflicting it.

* * *

It’s not that he’s confused. That has long passed, the turmoil inside him has subsided. It’s the incessant bubble of wishes that keeps fluttering every time it ends. When dawn is just right around the corner, his rest cut short from the long sex they just did. The liminal space between Gintoki soft snores and the Shinsengumi morning patrols. The way his chest tightens, and tobacco falls second-place in suffocating his lungs.

It’s a simple wish, Hijikata just wants it to stop hurting.

“Let’s end this.”

Enough.

“Do you think we should end?”

Just enough, already.

“Yes.”

It’s already more than enough.

“Well, you’re the one who knew what it’s like to stop. How would I know.”

It failed already. He once ran away and where did that land him exactly? Where does he thinks he is, able to just cut it all like that?

The hand that never really holds him, the wish, regardless.

It’s sickening.

* * *

The idea of embracing Hijikata is nice, the idea of loving him is pleasant. But who’d want to be embraced and loved in this kind of relationship, where it leaves no room to breathe at all, the tension presses you down. Gintoki sees nothing but contempt in those blue orbs and that alone is an answer.

Because there is no room for something tardy like pure sentiment, they tango in the act of thoughtlessness. Gintoki snatches him away during patrol, riles him up with unsolicited kisses, then leaves him be. It’s not affection, it’s admonition.

Because it’s already sickening, why not succumb to the disease altogether?

“You…”

Watching Hijikata trying to form words is an uninteresting activity, almost painful. The gap between his usual expressive demeanor to this frowning beast whenever he’s alone with Gintoki is too wide of a chasm. It is painful.

Someone better would coax him, or let him have his time in a much gentler way. Someone kinder would be patient, and feel sorry about it.

Gintoki tugs at Hijikata’s kimono sleeve.

“Let’s go to the usual place.”

Hijikata follows silently.


End file.
